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Nov 2023
Earth's canvas, leaves fall on paint.

The sun becomes a recent memory, there but faint.

The air feels like a restart.

It wasn't my year, but this is my part.

When the leaves fall, I pick myself up.

Holidays, where we forget the selfish stuff.

Hold my hand, search my eyes, & judge my plate.

Cold weather, warm houses, and allergic faith.
Written by
Pluck
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